Keep the Flame Burning

 Easter Sunday

Easter reminds us that no matter how fierce the storms of life may be, the light of Christ’s resurrection can never be extinguished. Like lighthouse keepers, we are called to tend the flame of faith and shine it for others. In a world often clouded by fear and despair, we are pilgrims of hope, carrying the light that leads to life.

Listen to Homily here

Easter Homily: Keep the Flame Burning

There is an old story told about a lighthouse keeper. In the days before electricity, his job was to tend the flame at the top of the lighthouse on a remote and barren coast. The flame had to remain burning through the night, no matter the conditions, because if it went out, ships approaching the shore could be lost or destroyed. It was lonely work, but essential.

One weekend, a family member came to visit. That night, a terrible storm struck—winds howled and waves crashed violently against the cliffs. In the morning, the guest asked, “Weren’t you afraid the wind would blow out your light?” The lighthouse keeper replied simply, “The wind could blow all it wanted. My job wasn’t to fight the storm. My job was to keep the flame burning.”

Easter is all about hope. It is the victory of light over darkness, of life over death. Because of our faith in the resurrection, we are called to be like that lighthouse keeper. In baptism, we received the light of Christ—a flame we are called to carry into the world to give hope, to give direction. And like that keeper, it isn’t always easy. Each of us faces storms—grief, health struggles, fractured relationships, fear, anxiety, and loss. We don’t need to look far to find winds that try to blow out our light.

On Good Friday, the disciples of Jesus were scattered. Their hopes were crushed. Peter hid in fear. Only a few faithful women remained, hoping beyond hope as they approached the tomb. But on Easter morning, everything changed. The tomb was empty. Mary Magdalene heard her name spoken by the risen Jesus—and suddenly, her sorrow was turned into joy.

The resurrection of Christ ignites a flame that no storm can extinguish. The Paschal candle, which stands before us today, is our lighthouse. It proclaims that Christ has conquered death, that His light still shines, and that we are never alone. Jesus is the true lighthouse keeper, and we are invited to follow Him—not in fear, but in faith.

Today, in this Jubilee Year, we are called to be Pilgrims of Hope. Hope is not naïve optimism. It is the quiet, steady flame that continues burning even in the darkest night. Pope Francis, in his Easter message this year—though unable to speak it himself due to illness—reminded us of the light we received at baptism. It is a small, gentle light, but one that must be kept alive. Easter is the time to strengthen that flame.

In a few moments, we will renew our baptismal promises. As I sprinkle the congregation with holy water—blessed last night at the Easter Vigil and used to baptize new members of our Church—remember the flame you were given. You were told to “receive the light of Christ.” That light calls us to reject the darkness: cynicism, bitterness, unforgiveness, despair. Instead, we are to embrace kindness, service, compassion, and above all, hope.

We are called to be lighthouse keepers—faithfully shining light for others. We are meant to give hope and direction amid the storms, to point others toward a different path—a path that leads to life.

Dear brothers and sisters, we are Pilgrims of Hope, and our hope is rooted in the Resurrection of Jesus Christ. His flame, His light, His life can never be extinguished. Let us pray that this Easter, His light will enter our hearts again, and that we, in turn, will become beacons of His hope, peace, and joy in the world.

Pilgrims of Hope: Walking in the Light of the Resurrection

 Easter Vigil

On this most sacred night, we journey from darkness to light, celebrating the Resurrection of Jesus Christ and the victory of life over death. As pilgrims of hope, we walk not alone, but with the Risen Christ lighting our path through the gift of the Paschal candle, the Word of God, and the waters of baptism. This Easter, let us choose to carry that light into the world—renewed in faith, strengthened by hope, and sent forth in joy.

Listen to homily here:

Easter Vigil Homily: Pilgrims of Hope

This evening, we are truly pilgrims of hope. Tonight is a night of joy and of radiant hope in the resurrection of Jesus Christ. Over the past three days, we have journeyed together through the sacred pilgrimage of the Triduum—Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and now, at last, the celebration of Easter.

Yesterday, on Good Friday, we stood at Golgotha, the hill of crucifixion, commemorated within the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. There, we reflected on the meaning of Jesus’ death: His merciful intervention in the midst of our sin, and the truth that He never leaves us alone. This evening, in our hearts, we continue that pilgrimage. From the chapel of Calvary, we descend the worn stone steps of the Sepulchre, cross the church, and stoop to enter the small, ancient shrine known as the edicule—the very site where Jesus was laid in the tomb. That quiet, unassuming space is the place where we believe the Resurrection occurred.

Each year in the Eastern Orthodox tradition, a remarkable event unfolds at the edicule: a flame is said to emerge mysteriously from the tomb, and one by one, those present light their candles from it. The light spreads throughout the entire church, filling the space with the glow of the Resurrection. In our own celebration this evening, we began with the blessing of the new fire, kindled outside in the darkness. From it, the Paschal candle was lit—symbolizing the Risen Christ—and from that candle, our own tapers were lit. As each flame passed from one person to another, we witnessed a living image of how Christ’s Resurrection spreads light into every corner of the world.

That light will return again later in the Vigil, when our catechumens are baptized. They will receive a candle lit from the Paschal flame, just as we all did at our own baptisms. These candles remind us that our Christian life is a journey—a pilgrimage—lit by the light of Christ. Without it, we walk in darkness. As some of you experienced when entering the church this evening, it’s difficult to walk without light. But once the lights are lit, we can see clearly. So too in our faith: Christ illumines our path.

We heard tonight the long but beautiful series of readings that trace the history of salvation—our family story in the faith. Much like a beloved elder at a family gathering who recounts where we’ve come from and what we’ve been through, these readings remind us of who we are and whose we are. They tell us of God's enduring faithfulness, His constant guidance through creation, Exodus, covenant, exile, and finally the coming of His Son. These stories are not just ancient texts—they shape our identity and give us confidence for the road ahead. Because God has been faithful in the past, we know He will be with us in the future. That is what makes us pilgrims of hope.

St. Paul tells us in the epistle tonight that through baptism, we are buried with Christ so that we might walk in newness of life. This walking—this journeying—is the essence of Christian life. From the earliest days, as we see in the Acts of the Apostles, being a Christian was called “the Way.” It was—and is—a path. As Christians, we love the world deeply, but we also walk a distinct path within it, following Christ. Our choices, our relationships, our values—all are transformed because we carry the light of the Risen Christ.

We have just heard the Gospel: “He is not here. He is risen.” This announcement, made first to the women at the tomb, echoes across time to us tonight. And so, we must ask: Do we truly believe this? Do we believe that Christ died and rose again—and that we, too, will rise with Him? If we do, then it changes everything. It changes how we live, how we treat others, how we love. The belief in the Resurrection becomes the flame that lights every step of our journey.

We are called, then, to carry that light. To look not for the darkness in the world, but to seek out the light. To recognize God's blessings, to name them, to amplify them. And then to become light for others—to be hope and joy for those around us.

So tonight, whether you are receiving the light of Christ for the first time in baptism, or renewing the promises made long ago, let this incredible movement—from darkness to light, from death to life—leave a lasting imprint on your heart. Let us leave this church as pilgrims—but always, pilgrims of hope.

Making Our Cross a Crucifix

 Good Friday

On Good Friday, we stand before the cross not in despair, but as pilgrims of hope. Though the day is marked by suffering and silence, it is good because God chose to enter our broken world, confront sin, and redeem it through love. In Jesus, the innocent one who suffers for the guilty, the cycle of sin is interrupted and transformed. And through His death, we discover that we are never alone—not even in suffering or death—for Christ has made every cross a crucifix by sharing it with us.

Listen to homily here:

Good Friday Homily – Making Our Cross a Crucifix

Almost 1,700 years ago, the Emperor Constantine built what is perhaps the most famous church in all the world: the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem. Construction began around the early 4th century, and although the building has been destroyed and rebuilt many times, it still stands today as the most central pilgrimage site for Christians of all traditions—Catholics, Eastern Orthodox, Armenian, Coptic, and Ethiopian alike all stream to this sacred place.

When you enter the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, you pass through the main entrance and, to the right, ascend a steep flight of ancient stone stairs, worn smooth by centuries of pilgrims. At the top, there is a chapel. Pilgrims wait in line to approach an altar beneath which there is a small opening. Each pilgrim kneels and reaches through the opening to touch the rock below—a rock polished smooth by countless hands. That rock is believed to be the summit of Calvary, the place where Jesus was crucified.

This church was built around Calvary, the hill where the events we commemorate today—on Good Friday—took place. And today, as we continue our Triduum pilgrimage that began last night, we walk with Jesus to the cross. We hear His words, witness His actions, and ask ourselves: How should this change the way I think? How should this change the way I live?

This year, as part of the Jubilee Year of Hope, we are invited to live the Triduum as pilgrims of hope. But at first glance, today doesn’t seem like a hopeful day. Put yourself in the shoes of Jesus’ followers. As we heard in the Passion according to John, Jesus is arrested, brought to trial, abandoned by His companions—including Peter, the very one chosen to lead. He is scourged, condemned, and crucified.

It is, in many ways, a dark day—a day of fear, of silence, of loss. The disciples were filled with hopelessness. How, then, can we find hope?

To begin with, we must be willing to pass through the darkness. Part of our pilgrimage with Christ means acknowledging the pain, fear, and hopelessness that His disciples felt. And it means recognizing the painful truth at the heart of Good Friday: sin has consequences.

From the earliest chapters of Genesis, we see this clearly. The story of Adam and Eve, followed by stories of jealousy, murder, greed, and lust, all reveal how sin spreads. Like a virus, sin begins small and then infects everything, bringing hurt and destruction in its wake. This is the cycle we all live in. We say things that wound others, who in turn may wound someone else. We are caught in this chain reaction of sin.

And yet, today is not called Bad Friday. It is Good Friday. Why?

Because in the midst of this brokenness, God chose not to leave us alone. In the face of sin, God sent His Son. Jesus died for our sins. As St. Paul tells us in one of the earliest creeds of the Christian faith—recounted in 1 Corinthians 15—“Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures.”

The death of Jesus is God's response to sin. In a mysterious way, Jesus’ death brings an end to the cycle of sin and violence. The New Testament authors wrestled with how to express this mystery, and one of their key resources was the prophet Isaiah’s image of the Suffering Servant. This Servant, righteous and sinless, suffers not for His own wrongdoing, but for the sake of others. His suffering brings healing, even for those who caused it.

The early Christians recognized Jesus as the fulfillment of Isaiah’s prophecy. In Jesus, the sinless one absorbs the violence and hatred of the world and transforms it—offering mercy instead of retaliation, life instead of death. This is the foundation of our hope.

Good Friday also reminds us that whatever we are going through, Jesus is with us. Today is the culmination of the Incarnation—the mystery that God became one of us. We celebrate the Incarnation at Christmas, but it finds its fulfillment today. Jesus shares in our humanity not only in joy and love but in suffering, rejection, and death.

Death is something we all face—either through the loss of loved ones or in our own lives. It is something many fear. But Jesus does not leave us to face death alone. He enters into it with us. He walks with us to the very end.

Tomorrow, we will celebrate with joy the triumph of life over death. But even today, as we stand in the shadow of the cross, we are not without hope. We face the reality of sin and its consequences—but we do so knowing that God has entered into our suffering. Christ walks with us.

In a few moments, we will have the opportunity to venerate the cross. This is a deeply meaningful gesture. Each of us carries burdens, struggles, personal crosses. There’s a powerful phrase that captures what we do today: “Make your cross a crucifix.”

A cross is simply a burden. But a crucifix is a cross that Christ shares with us. When we make our cross a crucifix, we are not alone in our suffering. We invite Jesus into it. That is what we are invited to do today.

So let us come to the cross with hope. Let us offer Christ our pain, our struggles, and our fears. Let us remember that He suffered and died for us—so that we would never be alone.

Let us make our cross a crucifix. And let us be pilgrims of hope.